


just that still sort of quiet

by thoughshebebbutlitle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, just a tiny bit of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6374713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughshebebbutlitle/pseuds/thoughshebebbutlitle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the quiet moments she loves most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just that still sort of quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Just some fluff in this angsty time. Title from 'Quiet' from Matilda the Musical.   
> Please like and comment!

It’s the quiet moments she loves most.

The way he brushes a light kiss on her forehead when he leaves at whatever godforsaken hour to go sailing, his lips barely grazing her head. She always wakes when he slips out of bed before light, taking his warmth with him, groaning in discontent before she curls into the warm spot he has left behind just for her.

It’s his Sunday morning pancakes that always appear in different shapes every week. It had taken him a while to get used to the food of this realm, but once he had gotten the hang of it he was a master, always producing delicious delicacies. Emma often came down to find visitors at their kitchen table awaiting their own pancake, the tales of his skill know all across town. 

She watches him with Henry. The way they sit chatting and recounting stories for each other; one from his imagination, the other from hundreds of years’ experience. She loves curling up on the armchair near the fire and dozing off to sleep listening to their fantastical tales before Killian carefully drags her up to their bed where she belongs, leaving him to make sure Henry gets to bed. 

It’s the way he grabs her by the hips to move her aside when she can’t reach the top shelf, easily grabbing the cinnamon that always finds its way higher than she leaves it. The cool metal of his hook and the tight grip of his single hand presses into her sides, bringing that comfort and reassuring closeness. His breath warm against her neck as he presses against her back.

The early mornings they sit on the front steps of their house, watching the sunrise wrapped in blankets and each other. Small, tender kisses exchanged as the sun casts its heat and amber light across the world. She wonders if she could be any more content, any happier than she is as she snuggles further into Killian’s embrace. She feels him press a kiss into her hair and she expects that this is it, this is a flash of true bliss. 

Of course there are sad moments too.

They take it in turns to wake the other up screaming. They have to wash their sheets almost daily with the number of times they come to dripping with sweat. They hold each other in the inky darkness trying to forget the images that haunt them both day and night; hushed reassurances of love to fight the aching agony of nightmares. 

It’s almost painful to see him play with Neal. She knows he longs for a child of his own; that he loves Henry but wishes for a little person who loves him unconditionally. She sees the way he stares achingly when Neal runs straight for David when things go wrong in his little world, how his crying can be soothed by an embrace from Snow. He never says anything but she knows; she knows that she can’t give him that, not yet.


End file.
